


Helpless

by tastewithouttalent



Category: 15 明刹工業高校ラグビー部 | 15 - Meisetsu Kougyou Koukou Rugby Bu
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crying, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 21:45:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6676516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Tell me,' Moe says, spilling the words over Komugi’s hair as he leans in closer, as his shoulders tip in to frame the other boy’s body laid out across the bed. 'You have to tell me if I’m hurting you.'" Moe is insistent and Komugi is desperate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helpless

Moe always asks.

“Tell me,” he says, spilling the words over Komugi’s hair as he leans in closer, as his shoulders tip in to frame the other boy’s body laid out across the bed. “You have to tell me if I’m hurting you.”

“You’re not,” Komugi manages, choking the words past the irrepressible tears in his throat, past the emotion that always presses up from the cage of his ribs and converts itself to heat in his cheeks and tension on his tongue. The words sound like a lie in his ears, even weighted with all the sincerity he can grant, so he shakes his head for good measure, looking back over his shoulder in case Moe decides to pull away in answer to his flush instead of to his speech. “You’re not, you never do.”

“I know,” Moe says, and there’s the suggestion of irritation on the words, there’s a hint of frustration forming itself on his tongue. His fingers touch the inside of Komugi’s thigh, tracing a path up against the line of it, and Komugi can feel the tremor of overexcited electricity run all the way through him to leave him trembling helplessly against the bed. “You say that every time. But if I _do_ \--”

“I’ll tell you,” Komugi blurts, too fast, without giving Moe a chance to finish his sentence. He can feel himself shiver with apology, his body tensing with self-consciousness as Moe closes his mouth, but he doesn’t try to form the words in his traitorous throat; he spreads his legs wider instead, making more than enough room for Moe’s fingers to fit between the angle of his thighs. “Please, I promise I will.”

“You had better,” Moe tells him, but the words are simple, steady with the weight of a command and lacking any of the strain of immediate concern. It’s enough to ease some of the panic in Komugi’s chest, enough to undo some of the fright that this might be the time Moe loses patience, that this might be the time he gets fed up and leaves. The idea makes Komugi shudder against the bed, makes him fall slack and submissive over the blankets, and Moe glances through his lashes at him but doesn’t comment on this sudden stillness any more than he notes the high flush of heat Komugi can feel riding across his cheekbones. He just shifts his knees wider, braces the warmth of his bare skin against the inside of the other’s legs, and fits a hand to Komugi’s hip to bear down with enough weight to hold the other in place. Komugi’s skin prickles all across his body, a sweep of goosebumps washing over him in a ripple of adrenaline, and then Moe’s slick fingertips brush his body and he jerks so badly the other’s hold falters and nearly lets him free.

“Relax,” Moe growls, and Komugi drops back to the bed, gasping for air as his whole body trembles with anticipated sensation. “You need to relax.”

“I know,” Komugi says, but his fingers are tightening at the sheets, his grip straining on the rising fear of rejection, on the anticipation of abandonment. “I know, I will, I’ll be good, I can do it.”

Moe’s sigh is loud in the room and near enough that it makes Komugi flinch from what follows. “Komugi,” he says, and Komugi whimpers, his throat turning his exhale into a mewl he doesn’t intend. He’s afraid to look back, afraid to meet Moe’s gaze, but then a shadow falls over his face, and when he blinks up in startled attention Moe’s leaning in close to press the weight of a kiss to the edge of his forehead. All the air leaves Komugi’s lungs at once in a sudden, startled rush, and then Moe’s shifting down, bumping his forehead to Komugi’s so Komugi can feel the heat of Moe’s breathing at the corner his mouth.

“It’s okay,” Moe says, his voice soft, low, gentle as Komugi almost never hears it, like he’s whispering a secret for the other to catch on his parted lips. Komugi takes a breath, feels the heat from Moe’s lungs on the air, and Moe keeps talking, still in that same soft, careful tone. “I’ve got you.” The hand at Komugi’s hip eases, Moe’s fingers spreading wide to slide across Komugi’s skin; Komugi shudders, his body shaking with the purr of friction, and the hand between his legs touches against him too, a press of slick contact just at the crease at the top of his thigh. Moe tips closer, his mouth brushing the corner of Komugi’s, and Komugi’s chin comes up of its own accord, his lips seeking out the weight of Moe’s like the draw of a magnet.

“It’s fine,” Moe says again, his lips dragging motion across Komugi’s, and he turns his head into another kiss at Komugi’s cheek, a little harder this time, a little more deliberate. Komugi shivers, his heartbeat humming in his chest, and Moe’s fingers slide higher, dragging across sensitive skin so gently Komugi doesn’t even flinch with ticklish nerves. “You’re okay.” Komugi lets the breath in his lungs out in a rush, feeling the tremor of adrenaline threatening his body, but Moe’s not pulling away, his mouth is still glancing over Komugi’s with every breath they take and his fingers are still sliding higher, his touch still trailing out a careful path up the inside of the other’s leg. Komugi’s shaking, his heart pounding expectation and his legs trembling panic at the possibility of Moe stopping the gentle drag of his fingers. Moe’s touch brushes against Komugi’s entrance, the weight of his fingers offering delicate friction, and Komugi’s whole body jerks, his back arching and his hips rocking helplessly forward in the first jolt of instinctive response.  
“Sorry,” he blurts, trying to make himself relax and only succeeding in trembling the harder against the sheets. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Ssh,” Moe tells him. He doesn’t sound frustrated, doesn’t sound angry as Komugi half-expected him to; Komugi’s initial jerk pushed his head away but Moe’s leaning back closer, Komugi can feel the heat of the other’s breath against the back of his neck. “It’s okay, don’t worry.”

“I can’t--” Komugi starts, not sure what he’s going to say: _can’t relax, can’t breathe, can’t live without this_ , but Moe’s lips touch the back of his neck and pin the weight of Komugi’s curling hair against the top of his spine, and Komugi gasps and curls in against the bed, the tension of his body cutting itself like the strings of anxiety wound all through his limbs have suddenly been severed. His arms relax against the bed, his legs shudder themselves to stillness, and Moe presses closer, breathing out against Komugi’s neck and then kissing against the soft skin with as much care as if this is the whole point of everything and not just the lead-up. Komugi shivers, a tiny irresistible shudder of reaction, and Moe shifts his hand again, the slick of his fingertips dragging again Komugi’s entrance once more. Komugi tries to tense, reflex winning out in the first rush of adrenaline; but Moe’s still pressed against him, his mouth is still caught at Komugi’s spine, and whatever shuddering panic tries to make it to Komugi’s thoughts stalls out at the friction of Moe’s lips and short-circuits itself into nothing more than that one jolt of heat.

“You’re fine,” Moe says again, his mouth still dragging over Komugi’s skin, and then he shifts his hand, the angle of his touch changing to threaten weight against Komugi’s entrance. Komugi’s legs tremble, his mouth opens, but no sound comes out; there’s just the one shiver of reaction and then he’s relaxing across the bed again, the anxiety that winds so tight in his body lulled and eased by Moe’s presence. Moe’s touch pushes, gentle even in its force, and then Komugi’s body eases, and Moe slides inside him, and Komugi whimpers at the first wash of heat that eclipses all his attention. His body tightens, once, an all-over reflexive action; and then Moe’s teeth press against his neck, gentle even in their friction, and he eases back to calm, trembling over the sheets as Moe works his finger in carefully deeper.

“Good,” Moe says, the word more an observation than praise. “You’re faster this time.” His touch draws back, relief and loss in equal parts, and then he pushes back in, a little deeper this time, and Komugi can feel the wave of reaction wash up his spine to catch at Moe’s lips at his skin. “You’re getting better at this.”

“Am I?” Komugi asks, faint and breathless on the words he can barely form for the white-noise haze over his thoughts. Moe’s touch is moving inside him, the awareness of the near-pleasant intrusion enough to make the details of speech far more difficult than they ever have been before. “Am I okay?”

“You’re okay,” Moe tells him, and slides in deeper than he’s gone before, the weight of his finger stretching Komugi open around it. Komugi can feel the motion on nerve endings he didn’t know he had, like he’s only becoming aware of this part of his body as Moe touches him; the idea makes his tremble, makes his cock throb with dull heat against the sheets, but he doesn’t move to touch himself or even to rock his hips down for more. He feels like all his self-determination has vanished with Moe’s mouth on his skin, like all that is left for him to possibly do is lie shaking across the bed while Moe’s touch illuminates him from the inside out. Time is going hazy, even the rhythm of Komugi’s heartbeat and the gasp of his breathing fading out of importance to the slow slide of Moe’s touch inside him; the ache is easing, the edge of pain receding, until Komugi feels soft and warm and calm, relaxed, like Moe’s movement has worked all the stress free of his spine.

Then Moe pauses, and says, “I’m going to give you another,” and Komugi tenses in a rush of involuntary heat.

“Oh,” he says, and “But I,” before he can think, before he can get the better of the reflexive reaction.

Moe pauses. “That’s fine,” he says, even though Komugi can hear the strain under his words, can imagine how hard Moe must be behind him. “We can stop--”

“No,” Komugi blurts, undoing his own claim in the same breath he gave it. “No, please, please do.” Moe sighs and Komugi can hear resignation on the words, can feel refusal in the pull of Moe’s touch sliding back out of him, and in the absence of the stretch the loss feels endless, like his whole self is aching for the friction of Moe’s touch again. Komugi turns his head down against the sheets, gasping air for the words he can’t find, and there’s real panic in his chest now, fright overriding reflexive nerves to hiccup emotion into his throat. “No, please, don’t stop Moe, please, I want it, I want more.”

“Komugi--”

“ _Please_ ,” Komugi chokes off, and his eyes are burning, emotion threatening his throat and dampening his lashes until his vision is blurring with wet. “Please, please don’t stop.” His fingers clutch at the sheets, his knees dig into the mattress, but Moe’s hand is bracing his hip and he can’t get traction enough to push back against the slide of Moe drawing out of him. “Moe, _please_ , I’m--”

“Calm down,” Moe says, his voice rough on the very edge of irritation and taut over something Komugi can’t place. “I’m not stopping.” Komugi sags to the sheets, all the tension bleeding out of his body in a breathless rush of relief, and Moe’s touch drags over him again, the angle of his hand shifting as he presses two fingers next to each other. “I’m just taking it slow.” The roughness is smoothing away, the tension drawing tighter, and then Moe clears his throat and Komugi can hear the outline of a laugh under the sound, amusement caught and cleared aside by the drag of air in his throat. “You don’t need to beg for it.”

“Sorry, Moe,” Komugi says, but Moe’s pushing harder against him and he undoes his apology immediately with a hissing gasp of air, with an exhale that comes out in the shape of “ _Please_ ” against his tongue. Moe’s hand shifts, his fingers press, and Komugi can feel the tension of his body giving way to the force of Moe’s touch as he stretches around the other’s fingers. Komugi’s back arches, his body curving into an arc of reaction against the sheets, but Moe doesn’t pause this time; he’s pushing instead, sliding his fingers farther while Komugi is still whining reaction to the first stretch, while Komugi’s chest is still straining as if to make space for Moe’s fingers inside him. He can’t catch his breath, can’t get traction to push himself out of his limp sprawl over the mattress, and then Moe shifts his fingers to stretch him wider and pushes hard inside the other’s body. There’s a flare of sensation, a spark of heat running up Komugi’s spine, and he chokes on empty lungs, his eyes going wide as his whole body tenses through a moment of breathless pleasure. Moe’s drawing his hand back, retreating by an inch while Komugi is still shaking, and then he does it again and Komugi has to turn his head down to the sheets to wail reaction against what muffling effect the barrier can grant him.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Moe tells him, but his voice is dropping lower, Komugi can feel the resonance of it purring through his bones like an earthquake running through the ground. He shakes his head against the bed, desperate rejection of the idea even as Moe draws back for another forward stroke of his fingers, and when he opens his mouth it’s to groan “No” in a tone he can taste like smoke against his tongue. “No, Moe, don’t st--” and Moe’s fingers slide into him, and Komugi’s back arches, and he’s sobbing sensation, “ _Oh_ ” breaking from his throat like fire spilling up from his chest. “Oh, _oh_ , Moe, _please_.”

“More?” Moe wants to know. “Like this, Komugi?” And he’s pushing in farther, harder, working his fingers inside the other with a precision that startles all the coherency out of Komugi’s mind with each forward motion. It’s all he manage to remember to inhale between each rush of friction, all he can do to fill his trembling chest with air in the moments of flash-quick coherency before Moe’s pushing into him again and forcing everything -- thoughts, air, rationality -- out of him in a helpless, tensing moan. Komugi’s cock is going slick against the sheets, his hips jolting forward against the resistance in tiny, reflexive jerks, but he doesn’t think about that any more than anything else; it’s all part of the same, all part of the electric sensation so strong he can’t even parse it as pleasure, doesn’t have any awareness left to him to understand the details beyond the want, beyond the sharp ache of necessity telling him _more, more, more_ , demanding friction and heat and sensation even as his lungs ache for want of the air he keeps forgetting to breathe. Moe’s shifting behind him, his knees slipping over the bed as he draws his hand back, and Komugi gasps a desperate lungful of air as Moe’s touch slides out of him, as his whole body trembles with the sudden lack of pressure.

“Moe,” he chokes against the bed, feeling the air burn hot in his lungs from the weight of the sheets in front of him, feeling like he’s suffocating but not able to think to turn his head for a clearer breath. “Moe, _please_.”

“I know,” Moe grates, and his hand is tightening at Komugi’s hip, his fingers pressing a print against the other’s skin like he’s trying to drag Komugi back over the sheets. Komugi gulps air, his body flashing to heat as it tries to clench around a pressure no longer there, and then Moe takes a breath and all Komugi’s skin prickles with anticipation.

“Here,” Moe says, his voice half reassurance and half an order, and there’s heat at Komugi’s skin, the slick weight of resistance pressing against his entrance. “Relax, Komugi.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Komugi gasps, his legs starting to tremble uncontrollably against the sheets. “Oh, _oh_ , I’m.”

“Relax,” Moe says again, but maybe Komugi is already passive enough, or maybe Moe is getting as desperate as Komugi, because he’s pushing anyway, the brace of his fingers against the head of his cock holding them in line as he rocks forward. Komugi chokes on a breath, his body shudders through another wave of reflexive reaction, and then Moe slides into him and he’s moaning, he’s shaking, there’s tension in his throat until the sound comes out as a sob and he’s painfully, sharply hard against the sheets.

“Fuck,” Moe says succinctly, and then he draws his bracing hand away and reaches for Komugi’s hip instead, his slick fingers tightening to hold the other still as he rocks his hips forward to slide deeper into Komugi’s body. “ _Komugi_.”

“Please,” Komugi gasps, not sure what he’s pleading for, not sure what he wants, except for relief from the strain climbing up his spine and twitching heat all through the angle of his cock pressed flush to his hips. “Please, Moe.”

“I am,” Moe says, and he draws back by an inch, taking a breath so clear Komugi can hear it echo past the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears before he thrusts forward. Komugi’s back arches, his fingers skidding across the sheets in a useless attempt for traction, and Moe groans over him, a bitten-off sound that’s still low enough for Komugi to feel all the way along the strain in his thighs and the heat in his cock. “You’re so _tight_ , Komugi.”

“Sorry,” Komugi pants against the sheets, hysteria rising in his chest. “I can--I can’t--”

Moe’s hand against the back of his neck stills the sound on his tongue. “It’s fine,” he says, the words rumbling on heat, and his hips draw back, his cock sliding inside Komugi’s body as he moves. “It feels good.” And forward, hard, filling Komugi so suddenly that tears overflow his lashes and his breathing spills suddenly up his throat in a wail. He can’t see, he can’t catch his breath, and Moe is moving into him, setting a rhythm to his thrusts that Komugi can feel like lightning jolting through him, an unbearable rush of sensation to seize control of his body and arch his back into involuntary response. He’s clenching hard around Moe, the heat rushing through his body coming out-of-sync with the other’s motions as his thoughts go hazy and his breathing goes rushed, and then Moe’s hand at the back of his neck lifts, and trails down, and comes around the curve of his hip. Komugi chokes for air, feels the terror of anticipation seize in his lungs, and when Moe knocks the next moan from his lungs he forces it into the desperate shape of “ _No_ ” like a plea for leniency.

Moe stops immediately. His hips stall out flush against Komugi’s, his hand goes still inches from Komugi’s cock; Komugi can hear the rush of his breathing in the sudden silence, in the quiet that comes with the cessation of movement. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Komugi gasps. If he turns his head he can blink tears from his eyes, can see the tension of his fingers scrabbling for a grip against the sheets under him. “No, don’t stop, but.” He hiccups on air, his throat grabbing reflexively for oxygen as another flood of tears threatens his eyes. “If you…” He shuts his eyes, gasps air. “I’m going to come.”

“I know,” Moe tells him, and draws his hips back slow, an extended drag of sensation before he reverses the action to thrust forward again, the motion drawn so long Komugi can feel the electric spark of pleasure coming for him heartbeats before it actually hits. “You can. I want you to.” His cock slides deeper, Komugi’s head goes back on the shape of his moan, and Moe’s fingers tighten at his skin, pressing suggestion against his stomach. “Can I?”

“ _Ah_ ,” Komugi chokes, and Moe draws back again, takes another forward thrust to blind him into heat. “ _Moe._ ”

“Tell me,” Moe says, his hips moving faster, every thrust coming quicker than the one before. “Do you want to come?”

Komugi chokes a breath and fists his fingers into the sheets; with the traction he can push himself backwards by a half-inch, can force himself back against the forward weight of Moe’s thrusts. There’s sparks behind his shut eyes, the black bursting with starlight with each of Moe’s movements; he’s shaking, trembling until it’s hard even to duck his head into a nodding answer to Moe’s question.

“You _have_ to tell me,” Moe tells him, his voice skidding into a low roughness, his shoulders tipping down until Komugi can feel Moe’s breathing coming hard against his shoulder. “Do you want me to touch you?”

Komugi’s hips rock forward, a desperate attempt for friction he can’t get, not with Moe’s fingers still shy of his length. Everything is tension, along his spine and down his legs and in the heat of his cock flushed so heavy he can feel the weight of it dragging at his hips. “ _God_ ,” he sobs, and then, in a rush: “ _Yes_ , Moe, _please_ ” and Moe’s moving before the words are past the strain in Komugi’s throat, his hand curling in and closing on the other’s cock while Komugi is still choking on the plea. Komugi’s spine arches, his head tilts back as far as it will go, and he can’t breathe and he can’t think but it doesn’t matter, his entire body is straining with the flood of sensation in his veins. Moe’s still thrusting into him, stretching him wide with each movement, but his hand is moving faster, his fingers tense and wrist flexing fast to jerk up over Komugi’s length. Komugi’s cheeks are wet, his vision blurred on tears he can’t hold back, and he’s hiccuping for air, gasping tiny mouthfuls that are all he can get around the tension locking him immobile over the bed. Moe’s hips draw back, his fingers tense; and then he drives forward, and his hand pulls up, and Komugi’s vision flashes to blinding white for a moment of endless, unbearable relief. He’s moaning, or screaming, or maybe just sobbing, it’s hard to tell what sound his straining throat is making with his ears ringing to silence, but he knows he’s coming, he can feel his entire body seizing tight on each rush of pleasure before falling slack and shaky to wait for the next jolt of Moe fucking into him and the accompanying surge of sensation that eclipses his entire existence. Komugi doesn’t know how long it’s been; it could be a heartbeat, it could be a lifetime, he can’t remember a time before this or imagine something after it, not when all there is in him is the anticipation of the next wave of pleasure and the surrender to it as it comes. Moe’s moving faster, maybe, or maybe time is just speeding up as Komugi struggles for air and feels his awareness drift hazy and distant with lack of oxygen. He’s shaking, his entire body tensing and releasing in time with Moe’s movement more than his own will; and then Moe groans over him, and stutter-thrusts out-of-rhythm, and Komugi can feel the heat of Moe coming into him just as the other sinks in the last inch to white his vision to haze again. Moe’s gasping, Komugi’s whimpering, and in the cessation of motion Komugi’s attention falls away into hazy half-consciousness for several long seconds of peace.

It’s Moe who brings him back.

“Komugi,” soft, gentle, murmured against the back of his neck. “Komugi. Are you okay?”

“Oh,” Komugi whimpers, and takes a breath of air so fresh and cool he can feel it fill up every inch of his lungs as he inhales. It’s too much, he breathes too hard, and for a moment he’s left coughing his way back to clarity, but Moe doesn’t move away, and doesn’t sigh frustration; he just waits, pressed close against Komugi’s spine as he waits for the other to collect himself.

“Yes,” Komugi says, finally, hearing his voice shiver and crack as if to make a liar of him. “Yes, I’m okay.”

“Your eyes are red,” Moe tells him, still gently; when his knuckles press against the damp of drying tears at Komugi’s cheek his touch is as soft as his voice. “Did you have a good time?”

Komugi’s entire body hurts, from the strain at the small of his back down through the tremor in the backs of his thighs and the ache over his shoulders. His fingertips are tingling like feeling is returning after numbness, his cock is aching; he can feel the afterimage of the stretch inside him, can remember the pressure of Moe’s cock moving into him in the inverted absence there now. The thought makes his own cock twitch weakly, makes his cheeks flush; he turns back down against the sheets to hide his expression, but when he nods it’s hard enough that Moe will be able to see even with his face turned away.

“Good,” Moe says. His fingers catch Komugi’s hair to stroke through the tangled curls; Komugi whimpers pleasure at the contact and feels his shoulders unknot to leave him lying heavy against the bed. “I did too.” There’s movement, weight pressing down against Komugi’s spine, and then lips ghosting at his ear, the huff of a breath as Moe whispers, “I love feeling you coming around me.”

All Komugi’s body goes hot at once, like he’s burning from the inside out with embarrassment; he whimpers protest, pushing his face down hard against the sheets and lifting an arm to angle over his head. Moe laughs against his hair, very gently, and when he nuzzles closer to push Komugi’s arm away Komugi lets him, lets his arm slide away so Moe can press his lips to a kiss against the salt-tracks of half-dried tears.

He can’t control his smile any more than he could his tears, but he doesn’t think Moe minds.


End file.
